Surrender
by sweetrupturedlight
Summary: Becca Thorn reflects on the beginning of her relationship with the private and mysterious Archangel, Michael.
1. Chapter 1

_a/n: Ridiculously involved with Dominion. I'm really enjoying the show. A 3-part multi-chapter fic.  
_

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Another evening of navigating polities and feigning niceties was almost at an end. Senator Becca Thorn surveyed the banqueting hall from her seat at the senators table and smiled politely at a passing ambassador. Her cheeks hurt from smiling, her back ached from sitting up straight in a corseted gown and her feet throbbed from dancing on heels that were really too high.

Consul David Whele hosted the event in honour of a visiting emissary. It was now past midnight and she had had enough. Across from her, Senators Blanch Romero and Thomas Frost debated the state of Vega's new food programme. It was nothing she hadn't heard before. Her fingers played idly with the stem of her champagne flute as she drowned out the sound of their voices and surveyed the room.

Dignitaries and guests were slowly leaving the event, although some still lingered on the dance floor, swaying to the melancholy sound of a pair of violinists who continued playing even as the band began packing up their equipment.

Tears sprang unbidden to her eyes and she shut them for a moment, focusing on her breathing and recovering from the emotional punch. The violin had been her mother's favourite instrument and the one luxury she had indulged in despite their wealth and status. Becca had learned to play the instrument at a young age. After her mother's death, she had not been able to play again.

She shook her head briskly, her eyes clear when they opened. Across the room she saw General Edward Riesen, Lord of the City, in deep conversation with his Chief Advisor and invaluable ally, the Archangel Michael. Becca's hand tightened involuntarily on stem of her glass as he caught her gaze for a heartstopping moment before continuing his discourse with Riesen.

Michael was an unending enigma. Deeply mysterious, he rarely spoke of himself to anyone. Except _sometimes_ with her. It always surprising when he shared his thoughts or desires because even when he did, it was usually with the briefest details, offering her only a glimmer of insight into a very complex individual. But that was because he wasn't human. He was a divine creation. And as such, saw the world in a way that mortals could never understand. It was why she was endlessly fascinated. _And attracted._

After Portia Thorn had died, her seat on Vega's senate had become available to her only living child. Consulships and the designation of Lord of the City were all hereditary positions, passed down from parent to eligible heir. Young and without her mother's guidance, she had to use the opportunity to demonstrate her worth and further her education. Now, many years later, she had proved herself a dedicated and loyal public servant, spearheading numerous health and human services programmes and overseeing the construction of Vega's foremost medical facility.

Becca allowed herself a moment to recall her mother, the sweeter memories always crowded by their final moments together. Black Acolytes serving the archangel Gabriel had infiltrated the city and many had been slain in the ensuing battle. Her mother, then the third most powerful ruler in Vega, had been possessed by a lower angel and turned into an eight-ball. Becca swallowed as emotion threatened to chip at her composure. The laughter of those around her registered on her periphery, but she was too lost in the past.

This was how she had come to meet Michael for the first time. She had been aware of the rules and protocols to be observed when encountering the always indifferent archangel. It was principles published in Vega's Citizen's Handbook.

1. Respect his desire for privacy and solitude.

2. If encountering him inside the city, avoid eye contact and always keep hands in plain sight.

3. Make no request to see or touch his wings.

Every citizen was educated to never forget that without Michael, humanity would not be alive. But none of the protocols had mattered. Her beloved mother, her body contorted as if manipulated by some puppeteer, had leapt onto the ceiling of her bedroom one evening, throwing her antique armoir across the room as if it weighed nothing. Her eyes were no longer kind and astute, instead her pupils were dark as night, the white completely gone. In the dim light, Becca could see that her face and arms were marred by thin, black, spiderlike veins.

"Mother, please!" she pleaded. "It's me. It's Becca."

But her pleas to be recognised as kin had fallen on deaf ears. With jagged, blackened teeth, her mother attacked, determined to exorcise her murderous rage. Becca had run, blinded by fear, straight into the arms of mankind's enigmatic saviour.

She'd never questioned why Michael had been there; everything had been a horrific blur. In a rush, she was pushed behind him, landing painfully on the cold marble floor, close enough to see the unfurling of his large black wings. With her heart beating in her throat, she witnessed first-hand what so many were endlessly curious about. _An archangels wings._ Momentarily, fear was replaced with awe.

With infinite, but deadly grace, Michael trapped her mother, ready to pierce her heart with a long, silver blade.

"Please!" Becca begged, finding her voice, overcome with heaving sobs from her vantage on the floor. "Please. Don't kill her."

He turned to face her then and she was sure that he had forgotten her presence. With cool indifference, Michael said, "I am surprised, Miss Thorn, that you of all people are not aware of the grieving process so explicitly outlined in the Citizen's Handbook. Portia Thorn," he looked at the creature, _her mother_, and then back at her, "was instrumental in the drafting of the policy."

Becca could not get a word out, slowly stumbling to her feet, her cheeks wet with tears. Her hand went to her temple and she winced, her fingers covered in sticky blood. Even barefoot, bleeding and dishevelled, she'd had no idea the effect she had on the always stoic archangel.

His tone firm, his eyes fixed solely on her, Michael continued. "Witnessing a loved one become the enemy can be very traumatic. The creature which stands before you now is no longer human. It may have once been your mother, but she is long gone. Left in her wake is nothing but a murderous angel inhabiting the body of the person you once knew." He paused a moment before adding, "And loved."

"I cannot let you kill her. I cannot-"

"I am not asking your permission," he said with cool grace.

Becca wrapped her arms around her waist, blood smearing on her white satin nightgown where she touched. Tears welled in her eyes again, falling like fat drops of rain. Something in his gaze shifted, but he turned away quickly, leaving her sure she imagined it. The creature hissed, snarling under his oppressive hold. He seemed to hesitate, turning to her.

"You must accept that your loved one is gone, Miss Thorn."

His tone sounded kinder, but Becca was too upset to care. She knew what needed to be done. She had seen this happen to others countless times before.

"I'm so sorry, Mother," she whispered. "I love you."

Her eyes met Michael's and the permission he claimed not to have sought passed between them. Before she'd even turned away, his blade was buried deep within her chest. The creature slumped, her eyes glazed over as whatever life had been left there extinguished.

Becca dropped to her knees with no energy to even cry. She was the last of her family. She didn't even know how to grieve that reality.

"I am sorry for your loss."

She would not look at the creature again. Her mother was dead. Around them, soldiers from the Archangel Corps flooded the room, an elite group of Special Forces who served as Vega's first line of defence. Becca and Michael neither saw, nor heard them. Kneeling beside her, he offered her his hand. Becca took it, her eyes fixed on his as she rose to her feet.

"Thank you…" she hesitated, unsure whether she should speak his name. His palm was warm, soft, but strong, his fingers long, gripping her hand lightly. She was surprised. She would have expected his hands to be cold. She didn't even know why she'd assumed that.

"Michael."

"I know who you are."

A ghost of a smile passed across his face. It had nothing to do with humour.

Becca was jostled back to the present by the heated debate at the table. It really was time that she leave.

"Senators," she said, interrupting the debate between Blanch and Thomas. "Thank you for a lovely evening. But if you'll excuse me, I have an early visit to the hospital and if I allow myself any more champagne, I'll be unable to make my appointment."

"Surely you have enough medical staff at your disposal, Becca. Stay a while longer."

"Senator Romero, I wish I could. But please, don't let me interrupt. Goodnight to you both."

She collected her purse and pushed her long hair off her shoulder, letting the shiny, copper waves fall down her back. Automatically, her eyes travelled back to where Michael still stood. He was watching her progress across the room, his features inscrutable as always. A frisson of awareness raced up her spine.

General Reisen turned and she nodded a greeting to both men, determined to be waylaid no longer. Ahead, Senetor Whele flashed a smile at the woman he was conversing with. Becca groaned. He blocked her route out and the last thing she needed was to deal with him.


	2. Chapter 2

_a/n: The thing about fanfiction is that for me, good fanfic always tries to stay as true to the characters' personalities and vices as possible. I generally like to recognise them in the actions they take and the decisions they make. Being three episodes in, there is very little on both characters to work with. Also, the nature of their relationship is still pretty much thinly sketched and mostly speculation on my part. I hope I've captured their essence. Thank you for the reads and reviews._

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Ducking out onto the balcony, Becca walked to a darkened corner and leaned heavily against the cool stone balustrade. The evening was warm, the balmy breeze lifting some of her hair from her shoulder, brushing the long satin layers of her floorlength gown against her legs. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, enjoying the heated caress of the early morning breeze. Being the only woman and the youngest member of the senate, she was used to presenting a composed facade. Alone in the dark, she allowed herself a moment where exhaustion completely overcame her.

Her thoughts drifted back to Michael. In the days after her mother's necessary killing, she had not seen, nor heard anything from him. It was as if his involvement had been a figment of her imagination. Covert inquiries as to his whereabouts had not been fruitful. A month later, Becca climbed the winding staircase to the penthouse suite at the top of the Stratosphere Hotel, unsure of why she sought him out. Curiosity, fascination, intrigue, and perhaps, she admitted to herself, a forbidden attraction.

Becca knocked before she lost her nerve, mentally chastising herself for her anxiety. She was a confident, collected, educated woman. Soon she would be sworn into the senate. She could handle a conversation with an archangel.

But then, nothing prepared her for the sight of Michael, barefoot and barechested, attending to his own door. He wore only black trousers which hung low on his hips. Her surprise was etched on her face and seeing his raised brow, she schooled her features. He did not have the same problem. A slight frown was the only indication he gave of any outward emotion.

"Miss Thorn. Or should I say, Senator Thorn." He inclined his head in greeting.

"Becca, please. My mother was Senator Thorn." Her throat constricted. _My mother._ She gripped her purse with both hands to centre herself.

He acknowledged her words and stepped aside, tacitly inviting her in. Becca stepped across the threshold, curious to take in the surroundings but determined not to gawk. The door closed and despite the open glass windows on the opposite side of the room, she felt trapped. She noticed a violin on the seat of a chair which faced the darkened city. _Had he been playing?_

"And yet, within the next week, you shall take her place."

"Is that disapproval I sense in your tone?" Her eyes narrowed, her spine stiffened and her composure returned.

"Not at all. Enqueries into your person assure me that you are intelligent and seem to possess the qualities that might bring balance to the senate." His hands were clasped behind his back, unwittingly emphasising his muscled physique. He was tall and lithe, his shoulders broad. He appeared calm and confident, _indifferent_ actually, perhaps a little haughty and condescending. She felt irrational anger kindle in her gut.

"Enqueries into my person?" Blue eyes sparked into impassive dark ones.

"I would be remiss in my duties if I did not attempt to ascertain the character of the new candidate to one of Vega's highest seats of power."

"Should I be offended?"

"Not at all."

"So I should be flattered?"

"If you wish." Smoothly he asked. "May I offer you a drink?"

"No," she replied, maddened by his incessant calm but strangely energised by their verbal skirmish. "You really are infuriating."

"My apologies-"

"Does not sound very sincere," she interrupted.

"I assure you Senator, I am always serious." The frown between his brows was back. But his head was also cocked slightly to the side, observing her with curiosity. His gaze unsettled her.

"Finally, something it seems we agree on."

"It's my turn to be offended I believe."

Becca flushed. She was being ungracious. He had saved her life.

"Michael," she said, testing his name on her lips. It felt intimate somehow, which was ridiculous. It was his _name_. "I apologise, for my less than tolerant forbearing. I sought your company and apologise for the intrusion." Her eyes briefly flickered to his chest, then to the violin. "I came to offer my gratitude for saving my life."

Becca felt unwanted emotion rise to choke her and turned her back to him, embarrassed, taking a moment to compose herself. The very last thing she expected was to feel his hand on her shoulder. She jumped, startled.

"Forgive me. I did not mean to startle you."

"No. I've been on edge for weeks." Her laughter was hollow as she blinked back unshed tears.

"I am sorry for your loss." Somehow, the words spoken with so little outward emotion brought her more comfort than many of the tear filled eulogies she had received. It felt honest and sincere.

"Yes, I remember you said that already."

The tension between them was thick and heavy. Becca's gaze caught his and stood transfixed. There was something magnetic about him, calling to her, pulling her towards him for reasons she could not identify. His face, passive as always, gave nothing of his feelings away. But his eyes, they blazed with some unknown need as they travelled across her face. She felt like he was touching her, even though they were separated by more than 6ft.

"It's late," she said eventually. "I should go."

"Yes. I do believe that might be for the best." They were both routed to the spot, both unable to move.

"Goodnight Michael."

"Goodnight Miss Thorn. _Becca_."

"Hiding out here I see." Becca was startled from her reverie, turning to see Claire Reisen walking towards her.

"I thought I was safe in the dark."

"I take it you're avoiding David Whele?"

"Avoiding a fellow senator," she tutted playfully, "never."

Claire rolled her eyes. "Your secret is safe with me. Besides, if you want to make a dash for the exit, now's your chance. He's left to take a conference call with my father."

Becca frowned. "At this time of the evening? What's it about?"

"No idea."

"As intrigued as I am, I need to get home." They exchanged kisses to their cheeks.

Becca had gotten no further than the courtyard leading to the atrium on the ground floor when a voice called, "You look beautiful Senator Thorn. This colour, it suits you well."

She halted in her tracks but did not turn around, schooling her features because a broad smile threatened to split across her face as excitement bloomed in her belly. Turning, she faced Michael. They were alone.

"Michael. I hope you've had a pleasant evening."

"Rather." His dark eyes were fixed on her. Heat pooled and her limbs turned to jelly. Dressed in his usual black attire, he really shouldn't look as sexy as he did. But there was something about his uniform that always excited her. Perhaps it was the deep V of his t-shirt, or the way his coat outlined his broad shoulders.

"I'm heading home. It's late."

"I wonder if I may offer you a nightcap."

Becca raised an eyebrow. "I've had my fill of champagne, thank you."

"Something else then?" An almost indiscernible smirk flitted across his face.

"What could you possibly possess that I would want?"

He stepped closer, a lone finger trailing across her cheekbone, around her ear, down her neck. Becca's eyes closed and she bit down on her lip, hating herself for her transparency. This was always how it was between them. _Magnetic_. _Alluring_. _Hypnotic_.

"Come with me?" It was a whisper close to her ear and desire consumed her. She was powerless to resist.

"Yes."

Becca stepped into the circle of his arms and placed her head beneath his chin. She sighed as his arms pulled her close, exhilaration making her dizzy. She knew what was coming. Her arms wrapped around his waist as he whispered, "Hold on."

They were flying.


	3. Chapter 3

_a/n: The final chapter. Thank you everyone for reading and reviewing._

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Back in his suite at the Stratosphere, Becca gazed out into the dark night. The round room was all glass on one side, the large sliding doors open, allowing the breeze to rustle the white chiffon curtaining. The centre of the room was dominated by a large, round bed, matching curtains draping from the canopy above. _It gave the bed a romantic ambiance_, she mused. They had spent many pleasurable nights there.

Michael was in the other room, taking a call from one of the senior officers in the Archangel Corps. She removed her stilettos, relieved to be free of them, and shook out her hair, absently combing her fingers through the long auburn tresses. A woman's hair was not designed with flying in mind. Barefoot, she surveyed all of Vega. At night, everything looked peaceful, the dark hiding the suffering and ugliness so evident in the harsh light of day. Down below, everything was quiet. The city truly slept.

Again, her mind was drawn into the past, this time lost in the memory of their first time. After her impulsive visit to his rooms, Becca instinctively knew that henceforth, she would only encounter Michael on official senate business. So when they saw each other at council, he was distant, coolly polite, courteous even. But she felt his eyes on her, sure that it was all in her imagination because when she'd ventured a look in his direction, he was never looking at her. But something inside of her unfurled, secretly delighted with the absurd notion that maybe, just maybe, she was inexplicably able to arrest the attention of their celestial, but pensive saviour.

"Senator Thorn."

"Michael."

Her eyes flickered to his as they passed each other in the passage after her initiation into senate. She felt the pull, their eyes lingering a mere fraction longer than necessary. Becca turned and stared after his retreating form, his stride direct, purposeful. But he did not hesitate, he did not turn back. She was appalled at just how disappointed she felt.

A week later she sat at her dresser, brushing her hair, staring absently into the mirror, unsure of what she tried to see. She felt restless, unexpended energy making it impossible to consider sleep. It was almost midnight. Going onto her terrace, she breathed in the warm air, hoping it would lull her to sleep.

Behind her, she felt the cool rush of air, heard the almost inaudible rustle of feathers and _she__ knew_. She swallowed hard before pivoting and facing the intruder.

Becca tried to maintain her poise, to be as unaffected as he always demonstrated, but it proved difficult when all her eyes wanted to do was drink in the sight of him in darkened shadow. She was so tired of pretending to look everywhere _but_ at him. This was her opportunity.

His wings were behind him, large, beautiful. Her mouth went dry.

"May I?" Her eyes flicked to his winged appendages.

"Senator Thorn," he began, his brow deeply furrowed. "I wonder if I should be alarmed at your apparent lack of protocol. The Citizen's Handbook, Chapter Two, point three states quite clearly, and I quote, _make no request to see or touch his wings_."

She stepped closer, then closer still, despite his words.

"I think there is a milieu of protocols already being circumvented by you just being here. Forgive me for breaking one of my own."

He did not acknowledge her point, but did not pull away when her hand reached out to touch the arch of his left wing. His eyes followed the path of her fingers as it lightly caressed the dark plumes. The feathers were soft, supple, their strength however, unmistakable.

"You're beautiful," she whispered. "Your _wings_ I mean. It's beautiful," she corrected, relieved the shadows hid her heated face. He had a way of making her feel anything but the confident woman she had grown to become.

His eyes, dark and inscrutable as always, bore into her own. Becca swallowed, never having been this close to him before.

"Why are you here?" The question was moot. She knew why. She had felt this between them the minute she had placed her hand in his. _The day her mother had died_. It felt like a lifetime ago.

His hands cupped her face, brushing her hair off her forehead, and her eyes closed at the touch. Her skin burned everywhere his fingers moved.

"Say yes, _Becca_." His voice was low, his accent more pronounced. Softly, he brushed his nose down the side of her face, breathing in her scent. Her knees buckled.

"Yes."

The word was lost in his kiss. Becca panted, consumed by the most intense pang of pure, unadulterated lust. Her arms wound around his neck, her hands combing through his hair. When she came up for air, they were in her bedroom and she was being lowered to the bed.

Straddling her legs, one knee between hers, he crossed his arms over the hem of his t-shirt and in a swift movement, dropped the garment off the side of the bed. She broke their passion-fuelled gaze only to appreciate the sight of his muscled physique. She was breathless, rearing up to reach for him and pull him down on top of her.

For a fleeting moment, she realised that she would never be able to share this moment with anyone, never confide in anyone. This moment was stolen, private, to be remembered as if a dream.

His lips trailed down her throat, and she gasped, bowing off the bed as his weight came to rest between her thighs. _She could not breathe_, the sensation so intense, the desire so incredibly urgent. Becca dragged him back to her mouth, pouring her soul into the connection. The cold, distant archangel was gone. Staring back at her was her lover, dark, intense and passionate.

"What are you thinking?" For the third time that night, Becca was recalled from the past. She felt him at her back, his dexterous fingers unlacing the ties of her corset.

"Everything alright?" She lifted her hair from her shoulder, sweeping it down her front so he could work unfettered. She saw him nod in the reflection of the glass in front of her.

"I was thinking about my mother. And about us." She smiled softly. "The day we met. The first time I was here in fact."

"Nostalgia, Senator Thorn?"

"A little." She turned in his arms, her hands going beneath his black coat, resting across his heart. "I was so young then."

His hands cupped her face and she leaned into his touch. She cherished these moments. It was the only time she ever saw a softer side to him, when his walls were not as impenetrable, when she felt like somewhere, deep down, _perhaps_ he might feel something more for her.

Their affair was secret, like most liaisons in Vega she suspected. It would be frowned upon for a member of senate to be involved with another member of council – let alone an archangel. This meant that all their public interactions were always within strict accordance to protocols.

"I do recall you being a little…"

"Combative?" She pushed back some strands of hair that had fallen across his forehead.

A small smile played at his lips. "No."

"Angry?" Her hands came to rest on the broad expanse of his shoulders.

"Lost."

Becca frowned. He'd never told her this before. "Really?"

"You had watched your mother die in a most horrific way. You were thrust into the spotlight, having to prove yourself to those who would become your peers. Some who would use your youth as impetus to see you fail."

"Yet, if I recall, you thought me intelligent and in possession of the right qualities for senate," she teased.

He pushed her hair behind her ears, his eyes intense. "I thought you beautiful."

Becca's heart tripped. She reached up and placed a soft kiss to his lips. His quiet intuition always touched her.

Like lightning, desire sparked between them as his hands tangled, fisting in her long hair. His lips claimed hers, kissing her with passionate intensity. Becca moaned, pushing closer. It was always like this between them. _Instant heat._But after, he always regretted their coupling and she was left silent and feeling helpless because she wanted more and he would never be able to give it to her.

His hands pushed at her gown and it pooled at her feet, leaving her on high heels standing inside a circle of satin.

She raised a brow. "Feeling naughty Michael?"

The small, barely-there smile was back. It was the sexiest thing because it was the closest she had ever come to seeing him really smile. She was also silently pleased when she saw him come just a little undone, some of that control relinquished.

He swept her into his arms, their lips fusing together. Becca pushed her insecurities away, focusing on the now. No other man had ever made her feel the way he did.

She would enjoy him while she could. And maybe one day, things might be different.

**THE END**


End file.
